Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The ways of the Spookies are dark, and necessarily obscured by elaborate ritual. For without a degree of secrecy, their magnificence would be unleashed into a world unprepared for such awesome power. After only a few days with them I have been able to discover a few of their secrets. At great risk to myself, I disclose them to you now.

The Spooky Men wear black.

The absence of colour is an obvious external display of the emptiness that lies within. For much of the individual spooky man's personality is eliminated in the course of his training and induction into the group. We learn through a long and painful process to abandon any sense of ego, assertion or even purpose, as we merge ourselves into one seamless, amorphous, clamorous black whole. While we are many, we are one. (And from all the lands on earth we come).

The Spooky Men sing often of Georgia.

The influence of the ex-Soviet republic of Georgia is strongly felt by all Spooky Men. From our overriding ignorance of fine detail about this place, we draw our strength of purpose to learn more (or to at least sing loudly). 1, 4 and 5 are the numbers which carry us forward, ever-striving to make one big noise together at end. For while in unison there may be strength, in the many, we the find the beauty of lots and lots.

The Spooky Men follow their leader.

The Spooky Men draw their inspiration from many sources, crystallised into the Spooky Constitution and inspired by Saint Ken (or Kevin in parts of New South Wales) the Usual. Of these I will speak no further now. I fear that my writings are being observed. Last night I was discovered paying close attention to the teachings of our leader. This clearly marked me as an outsider and not to be fully trusted.

"Our intention must be the same as our pretension" (Stephen Taberner)

"I powerfully and serenely resolve to tell you that thing that I was going to tell you, as soon as I remember what it was" (from the wisdom of Saint Ken the Usual)

The Spooky Men are welcomed in many places of worship.

Whatever the belief system, so long as the audience adhere to the Anglican faith, the Spooky Men are welcomed into houses of gods. In a town by the sea (neither of which I will name here), we marvelled at the intricate icons adorning the wall. Agog at the frog, we shared in a moment of spiritual sharing after our own style.

In the months that followed my call to join the Spooky Men, I took what steps I could to prepare myself. I practised what I knew of the sacred spooky chants, and hoped that my offerings would not be found wanting. I walked alone at night, contemplating the stars and searching for signs in the heavens of what my coming journey might offer. I trained my body in accordance with the little that was known of their ways. I spent much time on my knees and tried as I might to match something of their renowned flexibility and digital dexterity. Many was the birch sapling that gave its all without complaint to the demands of my regimen.

My role was to be that of vanguard. But even before the van's arrival, I went on ahead. I arrived by way of flying machine into that port city known as Macquarie. The sky was heavy with cloud as I made my way to my lodgings. Above the sign of the Starbuck I was shown to my bed-chamber. There was magic all around. The walls shone as though carved from purest alabaster. Dark potions and tasty sweet-meats were offered to me, and I feasted gratefully. Few words were spoken, as my hosts took their leave and left me to rest. They had a journey of their own to take that night, to meet with their fellows. They taught salsa to the local people, and their skills were required that evening.

I was content to spend time alone, and ponder what the days to come might offer. I left my lodgings only briefly, to find sustenance at a local tavern. It was a strange repast, but tasty. The food was in the style of Thailand, a distant place. Music drifted into the eating-chamber from an unseen source. I recognised the familiar strains of the bouzouki, and even picked out some melodies that were known to my people. (Morning Has Broken, I Can't Help Falling In Love With You, and Edelweiss all brought comfort to the scene.) After my meal I returned to my room and to my bed. I slept fitfully, alone in the unfamiliar darkness.

The next morning I rose early and walked by the water's edge and awaited the arrival of the first to find me.

It was in the deepest recesses of that land known as Tasmania, where I first heard the siren call of the Spooky Men. Their demands for me to join their sonorous clique were persistent and, as it would prove, irresistable. At that stage I knew only the reputation of this terrible band of wandering minstrels. From the Blue Mountains, where they have their lair, they travel freely, riding out from time to time to wherever their whims take them. Up lonely roads, and even through the skies, they come. Whether in crowded cities, among the vagabonds' tents or through empty towns, long past their prime, the spooky men move largely unnoticed among the unsuspecting inhabitants of the "real" world. In their obscurity lies their great power.

And now I had been called. I pondered long over whether to accompany them on their travels. For the spooky call is not lightly given, nor may it be received lightly. Lightly not it has the reception into the ear of the receiver.....

I feared what might be if I assented and made my own way into spookidomliness. For, even though they were asking that I give myself only for a brief time, I knew that where the spooky men go, mystery and danger go with them.

Through long nights I examined myself. I then took time to consider my position. Was I up to the task? Was I brave enough? Strong enough? Pretty enough? Could I, a humble "top" (as they would have me), albeit with travels of my own of which to speak, take among them my place, rankswise? Did not the risk I run that soon backwards would my words become inevitably? Already I felt their power.

Missives were exchanged. Texts, both ancient and modern, examined, sent and received. And finally I made my choice. My way was set. I would bow to their will.

One Spooky Man

About Me

John Thompson has toured internationally with Nicole Murray as cloudstreet. He has performed on stages around the world for over 30 years. In his former life as a criminal-law barrister, John dazzled and amazed with his tales of high fiction. As part of the comedy duo, Never the Twain, John hosted the Variety Breakfast at over 10 Woodford Folk Festivals, with a stellar array of guests, including former Australian Prime Minister, Bob Hawke (who was persuaded to lead the crowd in a chorus of Solidarity Forever). John has lead teams to victory in many Woodford Great Debates. He maintains an active interest in politics, current events and the absurd. And he sings.
John has served on the committee of the Queensland Folk Federation and as president of Folk Alliance Australia. He has served as the co-ordinator of the Maleny Celtic Winter School and the Brisbane Folk History Project, and is currently performing the role of the Song Man in the Australian production of the National Theatre of Great Britain's War Horse.